


Of bandages, tank tops and tailored shirts.

by phantomunmasked



Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:26:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomunmasked/pseuds/phantomunmasked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrea's gunshot wound gets infected. Luckily, Sharon is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of bandages, tank tops and tailored shirts.

“Captain Raydor?” 

Sharon looked up from the report she had been scowling at for the better part of the last hour. The quick dismissal she had ready died on her tongue when she realised who her visitor was, and she gladly dropped the dossier to the table, smiled warmly. 

“DDA Hobbs. How are you? What can I do for you?” 

A frisson of relief ran through Sharon when the DDA answered her question with a tired smile and a wordless gesture for permission to enter. So Andrea was neither sufficiently hurt nor shaken enough from the incident to keep her from work. Sharon nodded her assent to her visitor’s silent question, quickly, and stepped around her desk to pull out the chair. In truth, she had been worried for Andrea; no doubt she had seen the DDA at work straight after they took Maria Florez and her shooter into custody, but part of her worried that that had been the adrenaline that kept Andrea on her feet. The state the DDA was in presently only seemed to confirm Sharon’s theory. She sighed. If only she hadn’t been so caught up in the FID investigation into herself (oh, the ironies in life, she mused); she should have taken the time to go over to the DA’s office, to ascertain for herself how Andrea was really doing. She did not know Andrea well, but she had witnessed enough to understand that here was a kindred spirit that was as much a workaholic as Sharon herself was. It would have taken more than a mere graze of a bullet to have kept Sharon from work, and it seemed that the DDA before her lived by the same philosophy. 

“Please, sit. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to check in with you, I’ve been so busy these two days.” 

“There was no need, really, but it was nice of you to have wanted to.” 

Andrea’s response was quiet, and Sharon frowned at the quiver in her voice. It seemed that she had underestimated her visitor’s willpower. Keen green eyes narrowed as they took in the miniscule beads of sweat forming, the laboured breathing, the white knuckled grip of the DDA’s left hand on her briefcase. 

“Andrea… are you really alright?” 

Another wan smile, and a one-shouldered shrug as Andrea let her briefcase fall to the floor with a thud. 

“To be honest, I don’t really know. I’ve never been shot before, see, so I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling right now.”

Sharon frowned. Andrea’s tone was light, flippant, almost, and Sharon understood instinctively the younger woman’s desire to make light of the situation, to distract them both from the pain she must be in. 

“Well. How does the wound feel? Is it burning? Or is it a dull ache?”

Andrea frowned, thought for a moment, clutched the arm-rest of the chair she was in with a death grip.

“It’s throbs. It’s a dull ache in the middle of the wound but it throbs. The edges of the wound burn, but the throbbing if far more painful than that.” 

“That doesn’t sound good. Has the bleeding stopped? It hasn’t started again, has it? Have you had your bandages changed?” 

“No, I haven’t. I don’t think it’s started bleeding again, only because the bandages aren’t red. It has started oozing something else, though. I don’t know what it is but it’s just starting to seep through the bandages.” 

Sharon fought the urge to scowl. 

“It sounds like your wound may be infected; have you been to see a doctor?” 

“No, I haven’t had the time, and I need to catch Chief Johnson today – so I’m basically staking out the building so she can’t give me the slip.”

“Oh? If that’s the case then why are you here in my office and not in the murder room? Surely you’d have a greater chance of catching her there?” 

“Oh no; I know Chief Pope’s with her now, and Taylor. Gabriel said he’d give me a call the moment Chief Johnson stepped back into Major Crimes. I bribed Provenza and Flynn to do delay duty till I got back.” 

Sharon smirked, mind jumping to the ridiculous things that the two Lieutenants were bound to come up with in order to stall the human hurricane that was Brenda Leigh Johnson. 

“I don’t know what you promised Flynn and Provenza to make them agree to work for you, but well done. A well thought out plan. Let’s just hope it’s enough to slow Chief Johnson down so you stand a fighting chance. That still doesn’t answer my question though – was there something I could help you with?” 

Sharon tempered her question with a warm smile, and Andrea returned it, wanly, turning to rummage in her briefcase with her left hand. 

“No, nothing in particular. I just wanted to stop by to give you a thank you gift for saving my life… well. Indirectly, but still.” 

“Oh, you didn’t have to, it was my duty, after-“

“Argh! FUCK!” 

Sharon flinched at the unexpected epithet, and very nearly swore herself when she realised that her visitor had doubled over in pain, clutching her injured arm. The box she had retrieved from her briefcase clattered to the floor and Sharon neatly sidestepped it as she hurried around her desk, squatted by Andrea’s side. 

“Andrea? Andrea look at me; are you alright?” 

She reached for Andrea’s left hand and prised it away from her injured arm, where it had been in a death grip. 

“Don’t do that; it’s not good for the wound.” 

She held Andrea’s left hand in her own, laced her fingers through Andrea’s to stop her from gripping her shoulder again. 

“Deep breaths, Andrea. Come on. That’s it. Breathe through the pain.” 

Sharon ran a comforting hand down Andrea’s uninjured shoulder, tried to ignore the racing pulse thudding against her own wrist where it lay against Andrea’s. Slowly, colour returned to Andrea’s face as she drew deeper and longer breaths, focused on willing the pain away. 

“Better?” 

A pained grimace was her only answer, and Sharon sighed, reached up to smooth stray strands of blonde hair away from Andrea’s face. Her hand came away clammy, and she frowned, rested it on Andrea’s knee. 

“Andrea, I want you to let me have a look at your wound. I think it’s infected, and from what you’ve told me, I think you need to have your dressing changed.” 

“But I haven’t the time – “ 

“No, that wasn’t an option. You’re going to sit here, and I’m going to get the first aid kit, water and some aspirin, and you’re going to let me look at it.”

“But-“

“No. I’ll collar Chief Johnson for you later if you really need her, but right now, just sit here and don’t move.” 

Sharon fixed her best steely eyed glare on Andrea, willed her to give in. It was with a grudging sigh and a pout that Andrea gave in, and Sharon smiled, gently. She patted the DDA’s knee twice, then stood, striding briskly out of her office in search of the nearest first aid kit. In less than five minutes she returned, glass of water in hand. 

“Here. Take this and drink up.” 

Sharon popped 2 aspirin tablets from their blister packet into Andrea’s waiting palm, waiting for the DDA to place the pills in her mouth before handing over the glass of water. As Andrea drank deeply, Sharon crossed over to the half-drawn blinds that shielded her office from the rest of the FID bullpen. A deft twist of her fingers and they were shut, ensuring both women absolute privacy. 

“Done?” 

Andrea nodded dumbly and handed over the glass. Smiling, Sharon set it down on her desk and held her hand out to Andrea. Hesitantly the DDA took it, wavering a little as Sharon tugged her up. Green eyes sought permission as Sharon reached for the buttons on Andrea’s jacket, and the younger woman nodded, drew in a shaky breath as the captain gingerly eased the fabric off. 

“Sit, sit.” 

Andrea complied, and Sharon crossed to her right side, frowned at how Andrea had somehow managed to struggle into a long sleeved button down despite her wound and bandage. 

“Andrea, how on earth did you get dressed this morning?” 

The DDA at least had the decency to look chastised. 

“With great difficulty.”

Despite herself, Sharon smirked, and shook her head. Carefully, she reached for Andrea’s buttons, well aware of blue eyes that watched her face intently. Her fingers trembled a little when she realised just how intimate their positions were – Sharon leaning over Andrea, for all intents and purposes helping to undress the DDA. She shook her head a little and mentally chided herself, concentrating on the task at hand. Soon enough the blouse gaped open, and Andrea managed to ease her left arm out of the shirt without assistance. A little helplessly she turned her gaze back to Sharon, who moved at once to gently pull the shirt completely off. 

Folding the white shirt carefully and setting it on the other visitor’s chair in her office, Sharon studiously ignored the DDA’s lovely (if practical) choice of a simple midnight blue bra and circled back to Andrea’s right side, frowning at the bandage binding Andrea’s upper arm. From what she’d heard, the DDA’s deltoid had been grazed by a shot; not quite a through and through bullet wound but deep enough to take a chunk out of Andrea. The bandage was pristine for the most part, save for a small, pale yellow stain. Sharon scowled. Pus. Definitely infected, then.

Crossing to squat before Andrea once more Sharon took the DDA’s left hand in her own again, rubbing absently as she sought Andrea’s eyes. 

“Andrea? Andrea, look at me.” 

Dazed blue eyes dulled with pain met Sharon’s, and instinctively Sharon raised a hand to Andrea’s forehead. 

“Damn.”   
“What’s wrong?” 

Sharon sighed, rested a hand against Andrea’s clammy cheek and stroked an idle thumb across the line of the younger woman’s cheekbone. 

“You’ve got a fever. The wound is definitely infected. I’m going to change your dressing now, and then I’m driving you straight home. If your fever doesn’t break tomorrow you’re going back to hospital.” 

“But-”  
“No. No arguments. Andrea, infection is the worst thing that can happen with a gunshot wound. Please. Trust me on this.”

For a few seconds Sharon held her breath, braced herself for the onslaught of protestations that she was sure Andrea was about to fling her way. When instead she received a tired nod, she smiled wanly and stood, pointedly ignoring the click of her knees as she did so. She turned to the first aid kit on her desk, giving Andrea a few moments to compose herself. Bandages, gauze, antiseptic cream, rubbing alcohol and a few cotton balls. This was going to hurt, and Sharon took a steadying breath. Best get it done and over with as quickly as possible. 

“Ready?” 

Andrea nodded mutely, and Sharon set about unwrapping the bandage. The skin around Andrea’s wound was swollen, angry and red, and Sharon winced in sympathy. Bullet wounds always seemed deceptively simple, but they could devolve into something far more complicated if one wasn’t careful. With great care she peeled back the layers, wrinkling her nose a little at the slight smell from the pus. 

“Is it bad?”

There was an uncharacteristic quaver in Andrea’s voice, and Sharon felt her heart break a little. 

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be entirely sure. Let’s just get this clean and redressed.”

Andrea nodded again, and Sharon turned to soak a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol. 

“This is going to sting. Ready?” 

Andrea drew a deep, shuddering breath, and bit her bottom lip. With a sympathetic glance at the DDA’s ashen face Sharon dabbed as gently as she could at the wound, cleaning up as much of the pus as she could see. Andrea hissed in pain but held steady, and Sharon could not help but admire the younger woman’s tolerance for pain. 

“You’re doing great, Andrea. Just a bit more and we’ll be done.” 

With an efficiency born of cleaning and bandaging one too many scraped knee Sharon applied a thin layer of antiseptic cream and covered the wound with gauze. Leaning close, she kept her eyes on Andrea’s face, watching for any signs of overt discomfort as she re-wrapped her arm. The bandage had to be tight enough that the gauze did not slip, but loose enough to allow sufficient blood flow. Andrea’s ashen face did not change, and save for the sharp intake of breath as Sharon tied off the bandage she had not reacted. 

“There. All done. Are you alright?” 

Andrea did not reply immediately, instead taking several deep, steadying breaths. Sharon frowned in confusion when she realised that the DDA was counting in French _and_ German from one to ten and back again under her breath. So _that_ was how Andrea dealt with pain. Interesting. Sharon herself preferred thinking about the various steps in making her favourite brownies; she liked something pleasant to distract her. Andrea, it seemed, preferred the challenge of foreign languages. 

“Andrea?”

Sharon was almost loathe to break her companion’s concentration, but the DDA was beginning to shiver; given her upper half was clad in nothing but a bra and bandage Sharon was not surprised. Reaching for Andrea’s button down Sharon frowned; she did not want Andrea struggling into something to so difficult to move about in. Absently she began undoing the buttons of her own jacket. She and Andrea were about the same size; the tank top she was wearing would suffice. As she moved to pull it over her head, Andrea’s unsteady voice momentarily stilled her actions. 

“Sharon? What are you doing?”

With a small shake of her head Sharon stripped, and she instinctively tightened her abs as she felt the sweep of her companion’s inadvertent scrutinising gaze. 

“I don’t want you to wear that shirt again; it’s not going to be easy getting in and out of it, and we don’t want to aggravate it any more than we already have. Here. Put this on.” 

Andrea was about to protest, Sharon knew, and so she effectively shut the DDA up by draping the tank top on her head. With a resigned sigh Andrea wrestled her left arm into the appropriate hole, and glared balefully at Sharon as her right arm dangled helplessly. With a guileless smile Sharon leaned down and tugged at the material, thankful for once that it was mostly spandex. Andrea’s breath was hot against her collarbone and clavicle as she manoeuvred the garment, and Sharon tried to banish the blush from her cheeks. Quickly, she tugged the tank top down so that Andrea was decently covered once more, and took a hasty step backwards in an effort to steady herself. Quite unfortunately she stumbled, and she bit back a curse as Andrea’s left hand reached out and grabbed her, warm about her lower ribs. 

“You ok?”

Andrea’s voice was raspy, but her eyes were clear and sharp once more. Sharon nodded and took a steadying breath, far too aware of the movement of her ribs against Andrea’s trembling hand. Almost unconsciously Andrea’s thumb mimicked Sharon’s upon her cheek not moments before, stroking across the outline of Sharon’s ribs. Now it was Sharon that shivered, gooseflesh rippling across her skin. 

“You sure?”

Andrea’s voice had the slightest edge of humour in it, and Sharon latched onto it, grateful that the younger woman had the sense to sidestep the tension that had built between them in mere moments. 

“Perfectly sure, Andrea.” 

Shaking out Andrea’s shirt, Sharon slipped her arms into it and drew it close at her front. The DDA was slightly taller than her, and Sharon found she rather liked the looser fit of the shirt. The sleeves were far too long, though, and when Sharon moved to fold them up her fingers brushed across embroidery on the cuffs. With a start she realised that the shirt was tailored – the initials embroidered into the cuffs were Andrea’s, and she faltered. As though she understood Sharon’s hesitation Andrea reached out with her good hand and flipped the cuff up, tacit approval in the simple gesture. Sharon’s pulse stuttered where Andrea’s fingers brushed against the inside of her wrist, and she valiantly ignored the thundering in her ears as Andrea leaned back in her chair and watched Sharon roll up her sleeves with open interest. As Sharon moved to do up the buttons she crowed inwardly and congratulated herself at how steady her hands were. Control; focus. There were other things at stake here. 

“Ready?” 

Unconsciously shoving her hands into her trouser pockets, Sharon peered down at Andrea, whose expression was strangely inscrutable. The DDA blinked, nodded and rose smoothly, and Sharon was startled when she realised that Andrea was presenting her with the face she wore in court. What was the younger woman trying to hide from her? 

“Let’s go.” 

Andrea’s voice was almost flat, and Sharon furrowed her brow at the sudden brusqueness on the DDA’s part. 

“Andrea, are you really alright?”   
“Yes.”

A curtain of blonde hair obscured Sharon’s view of Andrea’s face as the DDA reached down for her briefcase, setting it on the chair before she reached for the box that contained Sharon’s present. Andrea held it out awkwardly, not quite meeting Sharon’s eyes. 

“Thank you, Andrea.”

Sharon’s voice was quiet, and she decided this was not quite the time to press the issue. 

“Here, let me.”

Sharon draped Andrea’s jacket over her shoulders and rounded her desk, tossing her mobile into her handbag. With deft movements she tucked Andrea’s shirt into her trousers, and donned her own jacket. The smooth blend of Andrea’s perfume wove about her and Sharon let out what seemed like her umpteenth shaky breath of the day. Focus. She needed to focus. 

Silently, Sharon ushered Andrea out of her office. After deftly explaining to one of her sergeants the situation at hand Sharon soon found herself once more in the silent company of the DDA. Something was off; it was unlike Andrea to be quite so reticent, and Sharon could not help but peer with concern at the younger woman. Queries about whether Andrea was in pain danced on the tip of the captain’s tongue but she bit them back. Somehow she didn’t think that Andrea would have told her the truth even if she’d asked. 

The car ride to Andrea’s house was similarly silent, save for Andrea’s brief provision of her address. Anxiety gnawed at Sharon’s gut and she resisted the urge to tap her fingers against the wheel of the car. Soon enough they pulled up to Andrea’s house, a decently sized terrace that boasted a well-manicured front lawn. They made their way to Andrea’s front door, and at Sharon’s raised eyebrow the DDA simply offered her her briefcase. Digging through the meticulously organised documents Sharon found the keys, and she drew them out, unlocking the door with as much efficiency as she could muster. Andrea said nothing, merely wandered into her home with tired steps. Sharon shut the door behind her, watching with worried eyes as Andrea disappeared down the hallway. Gently, she retrieved Andrea’s mobile from her briefcase and put it in her own pocket before setting it on a nearby armchair, placing Andrea’s keys on a side-table. With a single, sweeping glance at her surroundings Sharon nodded slightly in approval. Andrea’s house was tastefully decorated, she noted; they both seemed to have the same tastes, though Andrea’s seemed to tend towards the contemporary more than Sharon’s did. 

Effortlessly locating the kitchen Sharon poured Andrea another tall glass of water and rooted about the cupboards till she found a packet of saltines. With a small hum of consideration she tore a banana off the comb she found on the countertop. A little boost of sugar wouldn’t hurt. Balancing both the banana and saltines in one hand she followed Andrea’s footsteps. A door in the hallway was ajar, and Sharon nudged it open. 

As she thought, she had found Andrea’s room. The DDA was sprawled atop her covers, trousers and shoes thoughtlessly discarded on the floor. Sharon swallowed reflexively at the unexpected sight of Andrea’s bare legs. Now was most certainly _not_ the time to be having such thoughts, and she cleared her throat, stepped fully into the room. 

“Andrea? I brought you something to eat.” 

Bleary blue eyes flicked up to stare at Sharon as Andrea raised her head tiredly. Flopping back onto bed Andrea nodded slightly, and Sharon moved to sit beside her on the bed. Wiggling her hips slightly Andrea shimmied up to lean against the headboard, and Sharon peeled the banana for her, smiling encouragingly as the DDA ate it quickly. The packet of saltines followed, and Sharon set about counting out the correct number of pills from the bottles on Andrea’s bedside table. 

Softly patting Andrea’s knee (the only part of her that Sharon trusted herself to touch fleetingly) Sharon tugged at the covers, wordlessly conveying her intent. Andrea sighed and shifted accordingly, and soon enough was ensconced snugly under her blanket. Sharon took Andrea’s phone out and put it on her bedside table, murmuring gently to the drowsy woman that she was only a phone call away. Andrea was quickly slipping towards sleep, Sharon realised, and it was with sharp pang of worry that she realised Andrea had been putting off this deep rest for a while now. 

Despite herself Sharon leaned down and placed a kiss upon Andrea’s forehead, once again stroking a gentle thumb across her cheekbone. 

“Rest well,” she whispered, and turned to leave.   
“Sharon?”

Andrea’s voice was faint, thick with the fog of sleep. 

“Yes, Andrea?”  
“Thank you.” 

Sharon turned and smiled down at the blue eyes regarding her solemnly. There were questions in those eyes, and Sharon knew they were questions that she, too, desired answers to. 

But this was not the time for such conversation, and so she said nothing, only closed her eyes briefly and dipped her head in a nod. 

They would talk, in time, but for now, Sharon was content to let Andrea simply rest.


End file.
